The town was one that Cole didn’t want to stay in too long. Looking around he noticed several gunmen that meandered about the street. The sight of the gunmen set him on edge. The way there were spread out and watched them as they rode in caused Cole to rest his right hand on the waist band of his pants. He felt a little better with the feel of the smooth oak handle of the Frontier revolver, under his fingertips. The Gray calvary jacket masking the gun from the view of the onlookers. They pulled their mounts to a halt at the livery. Doc calmly dismounted while Cole sat solid his eyes watching those around him.

“Can I help you,” the soft drawl of a question came from the door to the barn.

Cole flinched ready to draw when the man spoke but stopped when he noticed that the man hadn’t been threatening. Doc looked at his companion and wondered at the nervousness in the lean gunman.

“Need to trade in this mare for a fresh mount and board the bay,” Doc looked from Cole to the man, “for the night.”

The tall man with the buckskins nodded and yelled back into the dark barn for another man. The man that came out was an old timer. His white beard scruffy and in need of a good trimming. Doc exchanged pleasantries with the older man who later took the buckskin into the barn, to bed her down.

“I’m going to obtain a drink,” Doc stopped and looked up at Cole when he reached the side of the appaloosa, the blue gray eyes nodded down to him.

This action caused the blond gunman to continue on his way to the saloon. It wasn’t far away from the livery. Cole waited as Doc walked away, keeping his eyes on the stranger that stood in the barn doorway. His long wavy blond brown hair hung down to his shoulders. His face carried the light stubble of not having shaved for a few days. Cole noted the way the man stood. The way he leaned against the jamb. His right hand resting along the side of his leg as he watched Cole. The hang of the man's gun made Cole note that he was the fourth gunman in this small town. Counting the one he saw talking to the young boy in the bowler hat, the man seemed to have finished chewing the boy out for some reason unknown to Cole, the gambler that sat in front of the saloon playing with the deck of cards. There was also the older gunman that sat next to the gambler. The man's age made Cole think twice about riling with him, any gunman of that age had to be a force to be reckoned with. Slowly Cole removed his hand from the butt of the gun under the wool jacket, and dismounted keeping his eye on the man before him. Lowering himself to the ground he turned to the horse and led him into the stables. Past the gunman, the old man walked up to Cole, and tried to take the reins, but was deflected Cole, as he moved farther into the barn and placed the bay into a stall.

Doc walked up to the saloon catching the eye of the older gunman and the gambler. He barely paid the two any mind. Taking mental note on where they were, and recognized his friend's uneasiness about the town. The saloon was quiet, as the cowboys drank and talked among one another. Approaching the bar he smiled at the beautiful woman he found behind the bar. He wondered what a woman as beautiful as that would be doing tending bar. Or for that matter being in a bar.

“Can I get you something, cher,” she asked with a voice that seemed to sing to Doc. “Sure could use some whiskey.”

He watched as the woman, deftly pulled out a glass and poured him a shot. He took note of her eyes, the soft blue of them reminding him of a storm coming in. Quickly he threw back the shot, and tossed some coins on the bar to the woman. “Thanks, Ma’am,” Doc tipped his head at the woman in a minor attempt to dismiss her, before turning to lean back on the bar.

He took stock of the patrons. There was only a handful of them compared to most of the places Doc had frequented. None of them looked to have enough to provide any satisfaction to him in a game. He took sight of a man, which for some reason reminded him of a faro dealer in one of the big city gambling saloons. Scurlock smiled to himself, well there would be an interesting opponent, he thought.

Cole meandered over to the saloon, he knew that Doc would be waiting for him. His right hand resting easily just under the top of the holster that hung at his side. His eyes watching everything around him as his ears kept trained on what came up behind.

“Finally, a true southerner,” the gambler stated to his friend smiling up at Cole as he approached the saloon.

Cole looked past the gambler as if he wasn’t even there. Calmly he moved up the two steps to the decking. The older man grinned, “The war is over son.”

Looking at the older gentleman, Cole nodded. “I know,” then silently he moved into the small establishment. Pausing at the doorway Cole spotted the fifth gunman in the town, and grew uneasy. He just hoped that Doc would get his fill of the town, and they would get on the trail again. There was a small game of poker going on in one corner, a game he expected to find Doc in but the blond gunman was still languidly standing at the bar.

When Cole reached Doc he could smell the liquor on his breath. He was well on his way to a good time. There was tenseness in Cole that Doc noticed as he smiled at his friend. “You need to relax.”

Cole nodded as he looked at the barmaid, and motioned for her to get him a glass. When the woman set the glass in front of him, he tossed some coins onto the bar, and then turned casually, placing his back to the wall at the end of the bar. He drank down a shot and tried hard to relax like his friend had told him. “Count five gunm’n,” he told the Doc low so that only he could hear. “One in the corner, black. Two when you walk in-”

“Caught them on the way in,” Doc said to Cole his voice just as low, as he poured himself and his friend another shot, “Where’s the others?”

“Livery, and the other at the sheriffs office.”

Doc threw back his shot in answer to Cole’s uneasiness. He smiled when his friend followed suit. Then announced loudly to his friend, “I’m gonna git us s’mere cash.”

There was no mistaking Doc’s intended destination as he glided over to the small table of poker players. The dealer of the group smiled brightly when Doc approached them. Cole watched it all. Doc was soon entrenched into the slow game of poker. Cole smiled as the thought of a new version of draw poker entered his mind.

He frowned slightly when he noticed the man dressed in black move to stand up, he tensed as if expecting the man to draw down on him. But all the man did was walk outside. Cole relaxed greatly, when the man had finally left, he leaned back against the bar and threw back his second shot of the evening. Watching the poker game Cole kept an eye on the slick gambler. The man in some respects reminded Cole of Bill Longley, he smiled as he remembered the tall lanky gunman, the dark busy mustache he wore trimmed neatly. He was the only man Cole had rode with that actually wore a suit and a black top hat.

“You callin me a cheat,” the swift sound of a gun cocking, brought Cole out of his thoughts and pull the Frontier revolver from his waist band.

“I wouldn’t if’n I were you,” Cole called over to the dealer as he sat calmly one hand under the table.

Cole could feel the crowd watching the three of them, as he slowly and patiently made his way closer to the table. His stormy eyes met those of the dealers. “I don’t take to kindly ta folks shootin my comrade.”

“I don’t take to being labeled a cheat,” the slick dealer retorted with a sneer. The action causing Cole to smile a little at him.

“I’ll jus be takin my comrade here and be gon’,” Cole reached his empty hand down to pull Scurlock from his seat.

“I ain’t goin no where,” he jerked away from Cole and at the same time pulled his gun. With out even taking his frontier off of the dealer he pulled the Colt .45 from its holster. Cole stared Doc down as the gunman aimed his gun on Cole. “I don wanna shoots ya but I will if I have ta.”

Cole stood there with a gun in each hand he cocked his head to the right a little as he looked at Scurlock. He knew that the man was drunk, and was not one to trifle with in his condition. “Ain’ no rason ta pull da trigger, Doc. Jus don wan trouble.”

“You just unleashed a world of trouble on yourself, Sir,” Doc said just before lunging at Cole.

The move surprised Cole as Doc punched him square in the face. Knocking him backward with the force of the blow, the guns he held in his hands dropped to the ground, as the two wrestled. Doc held the upper hand as he grabbed Cole around the neck and squeezed the soft tenderness of it in his vise grip hands. It didn’t take Cole to notice the crowd that brewed up around them or the fact that he was running out of air. Twisting his body around he gained enough leverage to toss the taller mans body off, and quickly Cole regained his feet. Without hesitation Cole moved over to his friend and reached down to help him up, but was greeted with an angry fist to his stomach, doubling him over as he tried hard to find the air that wouldn’t come in. I’m not gonna fight him, Cole thought as he fought for his breath. He could feel Doc grab the front of his shirt and haul him up straight and then the harsh blow from his fist again.

“I’m not . . . gonna . . . fight ya,” Cole muttered out of breath, taking the punches Doc threw at him. “Not gonna,” was all he got out before Doc threw a punch to his face that butted him into darkness.